lilac;

A feeling of dread sank into your mind, making your stomach churn slightly at the idea. You didn’t like that suspicion, because if not for you materialising—as Kenjaku had so put it—then someone’s demise might have been better avoided. Someone wouldn’t have had to have died to accommodate you. After all, none of this was fictional anymore, and the idea that your very existence now had weight to it didn’t sit well with you.

Kenjaku’s response was, of course, maybe as you expected, casual. His voice was calm, smooth and far too conversational, soft, but hiding something beneath the surface. “Maybe the people next door are renovating?” he suggested with a light shrug.

The harsher reality of what he withheld from you was that the owner of this home was already in the process of disappearing, likely already half swallowed up by one of the curses he threw at him. By the time it would all be over, there would remain nothing left of the guy. Though, he would be lying if he admitted that he felt anything that resembled pity towards him; for if he truly wished to live, then he shouldn’t have opened the door to him earlier, much less trust the friendly face that belonged to his vessel.

Which was a point: being in Geto’s body opened up so many opportunities with the handsome face he borrowed. No wonder the cult he ran was so successful in amassing followers, because goodness, what a difficult man to say no to. It was an absurdly useful thing, because the possibilities over what he could get away with were close to endless.

“Ignore it,” he added after a beat, recognising one resentful detail from you, knowing that you wouldn’t buy any lie on that note that he would ever give you. If you knew him—or his character, as you kept on putting it—then he might get away with far less around you. He found himself both disliking that, but also being curious. It was so long ago, after all, that he was able to be honest around someone else.

Then, not quite admitting anything, but not quite revealing anything else either, “It’ll be quiet again soon.”

You nodded a few times at the implication, forcing a gulp to swallow away the morbid thought. You had an idea of what was happening not too far away from you.

“A-An apprentice then?” you had barely managed to choke out, your voice suddenly all rough and strained, as you focused your efforts on thinking about anything other than the fact that someone was dying just a room away from you. It was easier to—like most people typically do so—brush it all aside as an afterthought when it were fiction, but this was something else—you could almost smell their passing, the weight of death hanging in the air: old, rotten and unavoidable.

Moving aside from the grim thought, otherwise, the idea of being an apprentice to a villain sounded a little more appealing than learning something under a rigid structure. A part of you was always curious about how—as well as the differences considered—antagonists might have learned or understood a power system in a world. You wanted to do that and more, wondering if, because he was disconnected from the norm as a character, you could learn far more abstractly than what you were used to seeing when watching those glimpses with the students. At the same time, however, the thought frightened you. It would, after all, be lessons under Kenjaku’s guidance, and mulling over that possibility a second time left you feeling a touch nauseous, because what exactly counted as an educational approach for him? Your mind drifted back to how he treated a jujutsu curiosity back in the Meiji era—the woman who could give birth to cursed spirits—thanking your lucky stars that your presence in this world offered far less invasive prospects.

But then, on that very same train of thought, another possibility ate away at you, being who your potential enemies might have been in this story—or timeline(?)—because by colluding with him, his foes were now yours, too. You had to quickly adapt to what was thrown at you as a result, as now you couldn’t afford to idly learn for your own enjoyment and did need to learn at a pace that allowed you to keep up with the world around you.

In that way, because this was based on a formula for a shonen story, the whole idea became suddenly ridiculous to you, because your enemies, by the logic of all of this, would amount to literal teenagers—children—and their guardians. The thought almost made you laugh in its absurdity, and you had to suppress a chuckle, hiding it swiftly by masking a gesture of clearing your throat. Oh my. Shonens were often silly, weren’t they? It was always kids fighting for the sake of their school, and the thought of you, let alone anyone else, doing the same thing made you doubt the whole plot together. Teenagers were stubborn, after all. Then again, this was no ordinary institution, you supposed. Maybe if your old world allowed you to learn what were considered literal superpowers, then maybe you, too, might feel just as loyal to the cause.

Kenjaku caught onto the faint twist of your lips. “Something funny?”

You blinked rapidly as he brought you back down to earth.

“Oh! Oh no, no, no,” you quickly said, drawing in a slow breath, glancing back at him with a look that betrayed wanting to say more given how your lips quivered. “It’s just kind of funny, isn’t it,” you found yourself unable to hold it in, “that this is all so… so… so strange, I guess? The story itself was supposed to appeal to a broad audience, so living in this world now as I am feels so… daft? But… if I were to compare it to my old world, then maybe it’s not so silly in comparison, given what went on there…”

Kenjaku pressed his lips together in thought, sensing a useful opening.

“Is that so?” he asked. “Maybe that can be the route we take to mark our first lesson, then. You can tell me the gist of what happens—not the details,” he added as he spoke, reminding you that this was not a full reveal, “and in return, I’ll help you sense your cursed energy, provided you have any.”

You straightened up immediately as he spoke, clinging onto the mention of cursed energy with everything that you had. You felt some slight apprehension at the same time, though, as he asked for the gist of the plot, but you supposed that you didn’t have to reveal the major arcs in detail, gulping thickly as you realised just how eager you must have looked, knowing fully well that he would take advantage of that.

“Interested?” he probed, noticing the way your features sharpened with intrigue. “It’s not too much that I’m asking for, just a broad explanation, really. In exchange for something that’s surface level, I’ll teach you the simplest lesson that there is. Children can do it. How to tap into your cursed energy—if there’s any.”

Your eyes brightened at the idea but then dimmed just as quickly.

“If there’s any?” you caught. “What if there’s none?”

Kenjaku straightened out his back, rolling his shoulders from side to side, stretching out his neck with ease. He considered the route to take here in addition to what he had offered you: ideally, he wanted to keep you compliant but hopeful at the same time; keeping you trusting while understanding his nature. He had otherwise never been much for teaching—at least not verbally, but you were from a different world entirely, so you needed more theory than practicality, so that’s how far back you had to start. He had to consider that despite your surface-level knowledge of how things worked, you had no idea how to harness anything at all, so he had to be patient—perhaps kinder than he’s used to being, even if the payout was surely worth it.

“It’ll be fine,” he shrugged, though there was a slight hint of uncertainty in his voice that you couldn’t dismiss. “If nothing else, then tools can be imbued with cursed energy to help you find it, if it turns out that you don’t have any of your own.”

A lightbulb of recognition flickered in your head. “Oh!” you burst out. “Kind of like how Maki uses her glasses,” you exclaimed.

His lips curved faintly at the comparison, pleased that you were capable of connecting the dots, thankful even that you had any shred of an idea of what he meant at all, because that at the very least settled the bare basics.

Before continuing though, his mind briefly drifted back to the example you gave; thinking of Maki, Mai, and that entire lineage of sorcerers. Perhaps even of the Kyoto branch of the jujutsu colleges at all, wondering about how his birth-given son, and the rest must have been doing. He kept light tabs on that; otherwise it would have been careless not to know what the proposed vessel for Sukuna was up to. He had an idea about the company around him too, of his new classmates, of the teachers he was learning from, and the like.

That earlier jab you had made about the world he was living in had suddenly stung a lot more, because perhaps you were right: it was a daft world. Your criticism made a whole lot of sense, and it was absurd that he left a kind-hearted child to be recruited later by the likes of Satoru Gojo, when he could have very well raised him by himself, even if that meant keeping him isolated and brainwashed. It didn’t make sense to him that Yuji should learn his morals from the lens of good people. Even less so, if he had to consider it further, that he would strive for compliance with Sukuna at all, when he could have set him for total surrender. A story, he thought, almost bitterly, how strange, indeed. It did feel an awful lot like the plot, as you would call it, had everything set up to go against him.

How insulting.

He ended up just smiling at your comparison, choosing to move on from the thought. If you were here, after all, a walking, talking, breathing embodiment of spoilers, then he could change the outcome. He didn’t need to worry about his life’s work needing to amount towards nothing.

“Besides,” he continued, “there are other ways to awaken cursed energy as well,” happy to talk for as long as you were capable of listening, because maybe a student under his influence would be beneficial. He could use you as a blank canvas to store ideas in; to have you talk back to him when he got carried away to keep him on track, if nothing else. “For example,” he began, “the reason that most ordinary people cannot see what sorcerers, curse users, and spirits alike can see, is a matter of politics, really. It’s quite ridiculous. Everyone here has some capacity for it, be it prolonged exposure or certain conditions… such as being on the cusp of life or death,” he trailed off, realising that you were the perfect instance to aid his theory. “You, on that note, are perfect to experiment under that notion due to the apparent struggle in which your soul is lost over where to settle. So, if you don’t have any immediate energy…” he highlighted, drawing out the explanation into something slow enough for you to latch onto, “then we can work with that state you keep on returning to.”

Though, in his words, you were barely keeping up.

“In… in exchange for what again?” you yawned out.

Kenjaku paused on a whim, breathing out slowly through his nose, not angrily, but more so as an attempt to reel himself in and pace himself with the amount of information he was providing. “You’ll be telling me the gist of what supposedly happens and in return, I’ll—”

“Oh, that, yes,” you cut in, interrupting him and catching him off guard with how blunt you sounded, though, settling with some relief at the same time, because he wasn’t about to repeat himself another time.

“Shall we begin, then? Before you forget?” he asked, unable but to help slip in a light jab.

You laughed nervously in response to him but didn’t waver, settling into an explanation that hopefully made sense, as he too leaned back to listen to your words. He stared at you the whole time with that measured, almost lazy focus, narrowing his eyes a fraction whenever you caught yourself, stopping short of revealing too much, too soon.

Initially, you started off from right at the beginning, from the discovery of the school and onto the first few major events that shaped the world as he later knew it. You didn’t stray away from the main names, and bit your tongue whenever a side or background character slipped into mind. You showed understanding otherwise of the disaster curses and the role they played up to the final arc, which was focused on Sukuna, pitted against everything else. The only thing you had to bite down on was the sequel, because you weren’t about to reveal to him that there were aliens in as soon as fifty years, because he would likely never shut up about it, you were pretty sure.

“Thank you,” he eventually concluded, his tone cordial but not unkind. “That’s more than enough.”

You blinked at him. “R-really…?”

He met you with a light shrug. “For now, yes. I understand the gist of the story, which was more or less what I wished to take away from this exchange. It does sound daft, I do admit. A teenage hero and I, his maternal abuser, who has come back right in time to make everything much, much worse. Why, of course. I’m honoured.”

Even if he did seem to be making fun of the plot and digging into his role, a strange relief swept over you, but only because you were worried that he might have wanted more information from you. Perhaps then he wasn’t lying when that much was enough for now, because your true use should come later, rather than in the moment, rather than giving him answers that hold no value with his current decisions. In a way, you shuddered at the thought of what was yet to come. The story, despite the hiccups brought on by the antagonists, was still met with a counter for each challenge. You wondered if the story would just adapt around it, or if the storyline was instead, just… doomed?

Though, as your thoughts addled the depths of your mind, his part of the arrangement emerged. He pushed himself off the wall from where he was listening, coming to meet you with a knowing, anticipating look.

“Now, for what was promised,” he started.

Before you could pull yourself out of your spiralling ideas, let alone respond to him, he had already begun the apparent process of reshaping this home into something else entirely; stepping out of the bedroom, down the slight corridor, and into the living room, where he pushed away tables, chairs and such out of the way. At some point, you considered asking him what he was doing, but each time you found your voice, the sharp, grating sounds of scraping furniture would cut in.

“Are we doing this here?” you asked when he appeared to be done.

He snorted at your confusion. “Where else?”

Admittedly, you didn’t have an answer to that, so you didn’t question him further.

In turn, he stepped towards the middle, placed his hands on his hips and dipped his head forward with a deep, drawn-out sigh, as if thinking about where to even begin, before glancing at you once more.

“Start by sitting on the floor, right in the centre, yes, right there,” he instructed, humming and nodding as his fingers snapped to point at a specific point. “Now, cross your legs and press your palms right into the floor, close your eyes and breathe in deeply—slowly—yes, like that,” he added, keeping a steady, conversational tone. On occasion, as he guided you through this, he would step forward and crouch right beside you to keep your posture level.

“Now, to sense your potential cursed energy at all, you will need to be grounded into the world as you know it,” he began, satisfied enough with how you appeared to be arranged. “This means that on occasion, you are to repeat similar exercises which I believe should help in anchoring your soul. After all,” he continued, inhaling deeply to explain as thoroughly as he possibly could, “you need to be aware that you exist in this world, and that you can no longer return to where you were before. I believe that this can be accomplished with breathing exercises, similar to this one, as silly as it might sound. You’ll need to focus on how life feels around you: how the air you breathe in feels as it enters your lungs and out again,” he added on a whim, narrowing his eyes whenever he looked at your impassive, close-eyed face, with no idea if you were retaining anything that he was saying at all. “Maybe you can look into the mirror from time to time and grow to understand who you are now—interact whenever you can with the world around you. Ah. That might just do it the most effectively. One moment.”

Suddenly, he stepped away from you for a brief moment, and all you could hear was him rummaging somewhere else in the background, leaving you all alone and slightly startled. Then, when he returned, you heard something heavy settle on the floor right in front of you.

“A little exercise,” he muttered before clearing his throat, keen on taking a more hands-on approach. “Open your eyes for me.”

You did as he said, albeit reluctantly, coming to meet with what looked to be a mirror with your fingers curling around the edges, blinking to meet with a reflection that did not look like anyone you had ever known, met or seen before. You understood that yes, this was your new face—your new body—but it threw you off so deeply because this was not a version of yourself that you could recognise, which was very disorienting.

Kenjaku took note of the way your body locked up, but was determined to push you through whatever hiccup you were facing. Given that you apparently risked slipping off into an in-between realm that he couldn’t follow you into, his best bet was to keep you as anchored to this world as possible.

“Keep looking,” he encouraged. “Not at what you think should be there, but rather, what is there.”

It was all easier said than done, of course, because the sight of your new self refused to settle in your mind. You were just a little bit too aware of the wrongness of what stared back at you, because somehow this body felt borrowed, even if it didn’t exist before. Though it wasn’t just about the reflection throwing you off, because there were layers to your existence that went beyond your appearance. You hated, in addition to how you now sounded, how your bones felt in your skin, how you felt at all. Everything felt strange and detached, and it was almost easier to accept that you were somehow still dreaming despite the pace at which you were experiencing life.

You gulped thickly as the understanding settled.

This was you. This was you. This was you.

“Now, tell me what jujutsu is to you,” he continued, certain that at least for now, you were painfully aware of who you were and where you were.

You, however, frowned as you considered the answer.

“It’s… it’s a system of cursed energy, right?” you asked, not sounding too sure of your own words. “Made up from negative energy produced by people?”

Kenjaku clicked his tongue. “More or less,” he shrugged, “although thinking of it as a system, or as a set of rules, is what will hold you back,” he corrected thoughtfully, reminding himself once again that this was an educational experience, so he had to use open language as well. “Think of techniques as vessels for application. The world around you can be manipulated, and the possibilities are infinite over how you can approach it.”

You blinked. “And… And I’m just supposed to have a technique if I somehow sense cursed energy?”

At that, he laughed quietly, just a snort of a breath that left his nose. “Well no. You’re not supposed to,” he shook his head, setting the mirror aside, as he too crossed his legs to sit on the floor. “Depending on your reach, you could in theory develop a technique under my guidance to help you apply it. Kaori, for example, used a technique called gravity, which was more or less kneading the flow of cursed energy towards a localised area. Certain parts of cursed energy can be manipulated to create specialised attacks to suit a style, and since you’re starting from scratch, you might just have a basic grasp of it, which can be sculpted either into something that feels right for you, or again, under my guidance, into something easier to control,” he went on. “Ideally, you will want something defensive, so that maybe if you do have the slightest amount of cursed energy to harness, you can in time—not immediately—learn to protect yourself,” he suggested, then concluded by addressing your concern, “and if there’s nothing there, then we can develop a cursed tool to help assist you.”

Before you could process the words he had told you at all, he moved to arrange you back into that same grounding position once more.

“Close your eyes again,” he murmured, moving his hands to gently tilt your head back. “I want you to try and lose yourself in your mind for a moment and see if you can feel a flow of anything warm? Anything that feels tingly, perhaps? Perhaps if you imagine you’re in a pool of water with ripples coursing across your body. Feel for something like that.”

You found yourself frowning again. “That sounds complicated,” you muttered under your breath, but tried to do so anyway. It resulted in nothing, of course, and for the first couple of minutes, you were just sitting with your eyes closed, looking at the dark, but unable to imagine what he wanted you to, but then—something within you shifted. Unless you imagined yourself imagining something. A small shiver coursed through you, plunging you into a state of coldness. When you tried to move to shake off the sensation, your hands splashed into something icy and wet. Initially, your first response was to panic at the feeling, but then you felt something warm and soft, like hands, close around your face, tilting your head back to where it was before.

A softer voice left him, to the point where the gentleness surprised you, even scared you. “You’re still here and so am I,” he reminded you, “but where are you in your mind?”

“I-I can’t tell,” you replied in a confused whisper. “I tried to imagine what you told me to and…”

“And…?” he echoed, encouraging you to continue.

“And… and… and I don’t know,” you admitted. “I still can’t see shit around me, but it feels… wet? Like I’m outside, and it’s winter, and it’s cold, but I’m lying in a puddle for some reason.”

A light huff left him at your weak explanation. “That’s certainly something,” he added in approval. “Keep believing that you’re lying there, yes? Focus on the sensation of the puddle, as you so put it. Is it flowing anywhere? Inwards? Outwards? Or, is it stagnant and not moving at all?”

Once again, you tried to focus on the sensation, and to your surprise, you were able to feel a bit more; maybe it was because he confirmed that you were on the right track, or maybe it was because it felt easier to concentrate now that you were actively aware you were doing it. The surface of the water you were resting on felt like it was breathing outwards from beneath you. A small rising wave that started in the centre and rolled out again and again.

“...Outwards?” you whispered, sounding confident at that time.

Kenjaku hummed curiously, pressing his fingers that time into your skin a little firmer so that you wouldn’t drift off too far within your mind. “Good. Let’s see if we can follow the way—while you’re lying, don’t try to move—the way the water goes and see if you can catch it right before it leaves your fingertips.”

Your brows knitted in confusion. You weren’t supposed to be moving, but you were supposed to catch something as it flowed around you.

“Like… grab it?” you asked.

He kept his voice steady as he tried to guide you. “If that’s what works best for you.”

Another frown tugged on your lips, but you somewhat understood. The water beneath where you lay rolled out in waves and at some point pushed past your fingertips, so your interpretation was to close your fist around it just as it started to flow away, so that’s what you did. Briefly, you discounted the idea of it working at all, because why would it? But then you reminded yourself that you weren’t limited to your old world before, and somehow, immediately after, you felt yourself grip onto something solid.

“Oh!” you gasped.

“Oh,” he echoed, his eyes fixing on your fists that had curled outside of your imagination, too, pleased to see that you actually did have some use in you. The next question was what, or rather, how on earth a person that was from a different world could begin to utilise it at all.

“Congratulations,” he continued, digging his fingertips harder into your face, although not to the point of pain. He intended to remind you that this was still a lesson and that it was still ongoing. “Try to use it.”

“And you’ve lost me,” you sighed wearily.

A sharp smile swept across his face, though only out of annoyance. If you hadn’t landed at his feet as a walking spoiler, he could be getting on with so much more, but then he supposed that the road he would take without your interference would lead him towards failure, so he dropped that feeling of frustration. He needed you to succeed if he wanted to, as well.

“Are you still holding onto it?” he asked, forcing himself to stay as patient as possible.

“The water?” you replied.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

You gave him a small nod. “Well, yes…?”

“So, try to shape it as if it were clay,” he suggested calmly. “Think about what cursed energy means to you and try to work with that.”

You tried to do what he proposed, but you were growing increasingly frustrated as there was a clear lack of results. You had even lost the direction of the flow of water, opening your eyes as you realised such, ready to give up the exercise altogether. Though, as you blinked, you were met with him pressed a bit too close to you, his cold, dead eyes fixed on you with only clinical interest.

Panic surged within you at the proximity, and the feeling of solidity in your hands returned on a whim, the feeling of it like fire on your skin. As if scorched, you found yourself pushing your palms outwards, forcing an invisible barrier between you both, prying his fingertips off of your skin and sending him back onto his haunches.

Kenjaku, at that, blinked in surprise and extended a hand to see if he could cross the line into your personal space again, finding that the second time, he was able to do so without resistance. A lazy, half-tick of a smile formed on his face. “Interesting,” he remarked, his voice shifting from passive to curious. “So you are the defensive type. Did you mean to do that?”

“No, er, I wanted space,” you revealed, confirming his suspicion that you didn’t mean to do such a thing at all. “So I felt suddenly too warm holding onto that solid thing and pushed it against you to keep you away.”

His dark eyes lit up at your explanation. Maybe you weren’t a hopeless student after all.

“I see. Not a bad technique,” he admitted. “Gathering your cursed energy and then applying it like a solid mass to repel a threat. We can certainly work more on it,” he beamed, suddenly overwhelmed with ideas to exploit—or help, he reluctantly corrected himself—you harness your energy. “I would like to see if you can use it offensively. Let’s say, if you gather enough of it, could you in theory shape a fighting aid? A sword? Or can you only imagine a shield?”

“I don’t know,” you wearily said, a heavy yawn slipping from you. Bags formed under your eyes and your body felt awfully heavy right after you had pushed him back.

“Ah, yes, that’s a point,” he considered, taking in your exhausted state. “Using cursed energy, let alone finding it for the very first time, is a strenuous thing,” he informed you, his tone shifting back to something neutral once more. “You’ll need to both sleep and eat back your energy,” he added, returning his fingers to where they were before, right beneath your jaw so that you could keep your attention on him.

You could only yawn in response, pushing his fingers down as your mouth parted only slightly.

He found the sight a little amusing. You weren’t too argumentative and did wish to learn, so perhaps this was a good route to take for now. Your only hang-up, he thought, was that you were stubborn and that you doubted yourself before trying anything new, and it annoyed him slightly that you needed approval before succeeding in doing what you initially thought you couldn’t. Then, if he were to consider anchoring your soul to your body, he had to think carefully about how you were experiencing even a lesson like this. The human mind worked remarkably when it was faced with new experiences and new information, so perhaps lessons like these would be further beneficial in that way.

All he had to do was ensure that much would continue.

“Should we get you something to eat then?” he offered, keeping his voice intentionally light and friendly, even if he knew you could see through him. If you were cooperating with him, though, then he didn’t mind being genuinely friendly.

Indeed, you were rightfully sceptical.

“As a test?” you warily asked.

“No,” he replied, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. “Because it’s important to do so, as a matter of fact. A successful lesson requires fuel to keep what was learned retained; in addition, it introduces a rewarding factor to it. Do well, and I’ll treat you to a good meal.”

Kenjaku then paused, tilting his head to the side in thought. If him being polite was unsettling to you, then he could have some fun with that.

“Or… would you prefer if I didn’t act so… agreeable?” he asked, trying to think about how he must have acted in that fictional universe you kept on associating him with.

You yawned again. “It’s not that, it’s just…” You started, only for your vision to swim and darken past what you could hold onto. Your eyelids felt weak, and you could not help but lean forward no matter what you did. Already, you could feel yourself slipping away, but then just as quickly, warm, firm fingers pressed into your skin.

It wasn’t quite a tone of concern you felt in his voice, perhaps more so something of a warning. “Careful,” he murmured. “Can’t have you slipping away.”

If it were truly that your soul had issues in figuring out where it belonged, then Kenjaku’s mind drifted back to that earlier idea of a binding vow, because he could, in theory, tether you to the body you were in, which would solve the issue immediately. He could forge one and sneak in a hidden clause that your cursed energy could be used defensively to protect yourself from him, but never quite on him, but that much already was leading towards something complicated. Even if he could convince you that forming a vow with him would be beneficial towards your wellbeing, rightfully, you would never accept it. There was also a secondary risk that if your soul “forgot” itself, then you might risk losing the knowledge harboured from your old world, rendering your use to him inefficient. He couldn’t risk something like that either, so he shelved the idea again.

As he pondered that thought, you blinked at the feeling of fingers on your skin again, before moving your hands to clutch around your stomach, feeling awfully hungry, just as he said.

“Right, hungry,” you said. “So, using cursed energy takes a lot out of you each time?”

Kenjaku nodded, satisfied to see you were still listening. “Correct, or at least, at first it does,” he replied. “Think of it like training for a sport; it will tire you out, yes, but only at first, and as your stamina develops, so does the amount of the activity you can endure. You’ll need to eat well—eat good food, healthy food, to maintain control of it, and oh,” he added on a whim, “on that note, in addition to a healthful diet, I would like to request that you keep a journal of sorts to track any health concerns, feelings, your cycle—”

Wait. You had to interrupt. “My… my cycle?”

“Yes,” he confirmed without skipping a beat, turning rather clinical about the whole subject. “Your menstrual cycle, to be precise. I would like to know as much as I can about you, considering you just… spawned here,” he gestured, unsure as to how else to explain your existence. “You have no medical history for me to go on. I need to understand who I’m working with.”

“But… why?” you asked.

“Well, I don’t want you wasting away for one,” he replied as if it were obvious, “let alone if you do, respawn elsewhere, because apparently that’s possible? Who knows where you’ll end up?” he half joked, sounding light despite himself. “But seriously, don’t think of it as anything invasive, or creepy,” he added, not sounding apologetic in the slightest, “if you are to be my apprentice, then I will participate in the bare minimum in looking after you. That’s all there is to it.”

A thought passed through you as you thought about how you died. That part where he mentioned you wasting away and entering another universe was likely something he wouldn’t have to worry about, based on a certain suspicion that had been bugging you ever since you got here. At this point, you were almost confident that you had died at your own will: that some sort of pressure chased after you and pushed you to your end. The more you considered it, the more, however, you detached from yourself. His voice suddenly felt distant, and you felt cold again, but not in the same way you did before under the meditation exercise. This felt different: like something else was holding on tight to you, slowly lifting you away from where you were.

“I don’t think I—” you started, meaning to correct him about his supposed concerns, only for him to be gone.

From what you could tell, you were still in the apartment, at least? You could see the tables and chairs that he had earlier pushed aside in their vague forms, but everything else, just like that other time you lost consciousness, was fuzzy and far too dark with whipping shadows flickering along the edges like dull black fire.

Before you could get too far, though, something he did earlier on had pulled you back: the sensation of fingers—something real—that anchored you over to where you were supposed to be, versus letting you drift further where you couldn’t get back to.

“As I said,” Kenjaku spoke, his voice close and clear once more, his pupils zeroed in and fixed on you as soon as the view of him phased back into focus. “You need a presence here to be able to stay here, so come,” he suggested, moving to stand up, extending a hand to pull you up with him. “You’ll eat the food from the world you’re now living in, you’ll memorise your surroundings, and maybe at least for now, you should be making an effort to be as hyper aware of your surroundings as you possibly can. Focus on how things feel, how things sound, whatever works best for you, because if you truly wish to stay here, then you’ll have to work for it.”

You gasped a sharp breath of air as you stumbled after him, trying your best to put his advice into action from the moment you could, feeling the floor, then later the ground beneath your footsteps, how the air felt when you breathed it in, how you felt when you moved around in what was now your own body—understanding it all perfectly well:

You’ll find a way to live here.

One way or another.

“So, what do you like?” he asked with detached interest, keeping his voice light as he walked downstairs and outside with you.

You shrugged as you followed after him. “I don’t know, maybe anything right now? I’m pretty starving.”

Kenjaku paused momentarily, his lips curling over the freedom you had just given him.

Anything? For food, sure, it was broad enough of a definition.

But how about with other things he can get away with?

You, on the other hand, were on the verge of falling asleep, but then again, who could blame you? With the events that had gone on in the past day, you were understandably exhausted, and even before, just moments ago when he was insistent on plotting something memorable, it was on a whim that you had even suggested such a thing at all. You knew deep down that he enjoyed it when you were unhinged; when you had odd or genuinely concerning ideas, so you threw that much out there to both quieten him down and to ground him. For some reason, him being overly sentimental over the end did not suit his personality, you thought, so you mostly just wished to steer further away from that.

Just to retain what was left of your sanity more than anything else.

Kenjaku glanced to his side to take a good, deep look at you, as if sensing your unease, taking the hint. His tongue clicked against the side of his mouth in disappointment, not at you directly, but because you weren’t reacting the way he imagined you would in his head. Ideally, you would have been over the moon; just as excited as he was, but of course, you were tired. He understood that much, but he didn’t feel any better about it, because if you were only tagging along because he was forcing you to do so, then that was a bitter pill to swallow. He wanted you present; he wanted you to want to see this through because you wanted to do something so outrageous, so unforgettable that it was almost silly in its absurdity. But no; today had taken something out of you, and that much should have been more than fine, but something in his mind wouldn’t let him hang up on it.

With a heavy sigh, he settled on getting through tonight, understanding that the grand finale had to happen tomorrow, not today. “Don’t worry,” he started, his voice low and just as tired, though somehow far more erratic, “I’ll get us a room, and we can continue onwards when we’re fully rested.”

You blinked at him, letting out a long yawn at his words. “Yeah? Do you even have enough money for that? These cutesy places don’t run cheap,” you jokingly replied, trying to ease the mood into something casual again.

Kenjaku met you with a small scoff. “Well no, not anymore,” he admitted, having burned off most of the cash he did keep on him while he was out experiencing life with you, “but that hardly matters; we’ll need someone for our project anyway.”

Another yawn slipped from you as you tried to keep up with his vague answer. “Wait, you’re going to subject the hotel receptionist to that? Damn. I thought you were going to be a bit more picky with this, considering it’s something so special.”

Kenjaku shrugged, casting you a glance from the side once more before blinking back towards the window, looking out at the night ahead. “Well, out here, there’s not going to be many people to begin with, so they’re selected largely for convenience,” he replied. “I’d love to be able to just check in and hunt around the building for the perfect victim, but I highly doubt that if we left the guy downstairs alive and he started hearing all sorts of odd, worrying noises, that he’d just let us carry on. No, we might as well take him out first.”

You sighed softly at his response, resigning yourself to the idea. “Right.”

“Yeah, right,” he echoed your words, the delivery coming out as slow as he let out a sigh of his own, tipping his head back against the seat for a moment, settling his gaze over the roof of the car. “And look, I know you’re tired,” he added in a low mutter, “I’m tired too, but I want this to go as smoothly as possible. You can find a room you like, sleep in there, and I’ll handle the rest. Sound good?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nodded along, forcing your tone into something agreeable and casual, so he’d knock off what you still thought was feigned care. “Just one thing.”

He hummed curiously. “Yes?”

“What if someone wants to check in through the night or even tomorrow, and nobody’s around? It’s peak season right now. It would be odd, that’s all,” you brought up, raising what you thought was a genuinely valid point.

Kenjaku considered your words, but ultimately shrugged off your concerns. “It’ll be fine,” he replied, deciding that it was a non-issue. “Maybe they can leave in a huff, thinking they were scammed, or maybe—” he caught himself, a creepy smile forming on his lips, “because I’m such a gentleman, I can redirect them back home, or check them in—forever.”

You let out a breathless laugh, sounding half amused, half not. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll work out.”

“It will,” he was quick to insist, “so quit doubting me so much already,” he added, a hint of warning entering his tone. “You’ll get the rest you’re so desperate for, and then…” he trailed off, his eyes narrowing, turning his head to look at you directly, “and then, you’ll help me. Won’t you?”

You were about to reply, but his own paranoia caught up to him before you even had a chance to speak; his tone tightened at once, his words coming out as both manic and insistent, “Assuming you still want to go through with all this?” he asked, the threat in his voice loud and clear. “Like you promised.”

You gulped thickly, but forced out a laugh, hoping to mask your unease. “Yeah, obviously I’m gonna go through with it, you whiny diva.”

He paused at your jab. “Whiny diva?”

You hummed in confirmation, nodding your head, hoping he would ease up.

His hands flew up in an instant. “Well, that’s fair, I suppose,” he laughed, though the look he gave you was far from calm, reaching for your wrist next as he stretched out, gently at first, before tugging you so close to his side that your head pressed against his mouth. His voice lowered to a whisper that felt hot and wet against your ear, “You’re either all in, or not at all,” he breathed out.

You pulled back slightly, once again trying to shake him off, but this time you were unable to keep the nervousness out of your voice. “Y-yeah, I mean? Obviously—obviously I’m all in. I mean, hello? Look at where I am and who I’m with and what I’ve been up to for the better part of the year—there’s no going back from this. No way, right?”

Kenjaku pulled back to stare you down for a good, solid minute before letting go of you altogether, suddenly dropping the serious act from something bothered to something bright and jovial.

“Right!” he beamed. “Great!” he barked out next, reaching to pull against the car door with a searching hand, elbowing it open and stumbling out of the driver’s seat, striding around the vehicle with a marching gait.

You remained frozen solid as he did, tracking him in the dark with wide, uncertain eyes, squaring your shoulders as he moved around where you sat. A startled gasp left your lips as he pulled open the door at your side, even if you knew it was coming, allowing the cool droplets of the night rain to fall on your skin. It was never a good sign when he was like this, but you had no choice other than to follow along, so when you grabbed you out of your seat, practically pulling you to your feet, you didn’t resist as you fell right into his arms, keeping deathly still as your face pressed into his chest.

“K-Ken—” you started, only for him to clasp around the back of your head, hushing your protests by pushing you further into himself.

“It’s fine,” he smiled, his fingers curling around your scalp just a little too tight. “You’ll sleep, yes?” he asked, pulling back just a little to blink down and make eye contact with you.

You blinked up and slowly nodded. “Yes…?”

“Great!” he erupted once more. “Sleep then, right before it all has to end, right before it all has to—” he found himself stopping just as fast, the words he exclaimed left hanging in the air, and the grip he had around your head clenching to an almost unbearable degree, before forcing himself to take a long, calming breath. He knew he was acting scary—even for you. He knew that he was acting unstable—which was bad, technically, because it made him less careful. He was just so obsessed in the heat of the moment; perhaps with the direction of your idea, or the plan needing to be perfect, or from doing something so extraordinary with you at all—that he was starting to forget himself again.

It had gone right, after all, because what good was the future memory he was chasing after otherwise?

You slowly extracted yourself from him as soon as you were able to, leaving you both standing in the cold, damp darkness.

“Sorry,” he finally said, not following up much after that, taking a step back and reaching for your hand, intertwining both of your fingers together, before making a start for the bed and breakfast waiting up ahead.

When you reached the inside, you stood at the desk just as he did, but jolted from the moment he started to slap the bell, generating a loud, jarring sound over and over, his eyes wild and fixed on a doorway that seemed to lead to a staff-only area towards the back. He knew the clerk was around at the very least; he saw movement before.

Someone came on through eventually, but they sure did take their sweet time. A man around your age emerged from the entryway, looking startled as soon as his eyes settled on you both. Initially, he was muttering something about his parents ‘really leaving him alone in the summer for their retirement’, cursing under his breath, before he simply stopped. Did the two of you give him that bad of a feeling? You supposed that some people just had a good intuition about these sorts of things. You watched a bit more intently as the man took a wary step back, before forcing himself to take a step forward, perhaps the reluctant politeness winning out over his clear unease.

“Some weather, huh?” he started with, rather than asking the two of you what you wanted, his eyes going anywhere but making contact with Kenjaku, who was at this point awfully quiet, staring at the guy with a quiet smile.

Neither of you responded.

A nervous, breathless laugh left him from the silence that gathered, before he tried to force a semblance of composure. “Look, man, my folks aren’t around, so any reservations had to be made around spring,” he tried to lead with a lie. “The rooms aren’t ready for—”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Kenjaku replied with an even wider smile, coming to lean over the front desk by pushing forward with his elbows, resting his chin against his palms. “More than fine, in fact,” he added on a whim. “We were actually looking for something empty, as it turns out.”

“O-oh, I don’t mind,” the man stammered, keeping as far behind the desk as possible, “but there’s a lot of paperwork to get through, and—and—”

Kenjaku leaned back, ringing the bell on the desk once more, effectively silencing the guy’s nervous spiral, before fixing him with a calm, unsettling smile once more. “Oh no, paperwork,” he dramatically repeated. “Oh no, no, no…! Is that really so much of a problem?”

The clerk gulped thickly. “Not at all. How many… nights…?”

Kenjaku’s smile eased up slightly, his tone easing into something much more conversational. “Just the one, if you’d be so kind,” he replied, pulling you to his side to encourage you to play along with his lie, “as you can see, it’s just us here, on a honeymoon as it turns out,” he added, “we’re doing everything… spontaneously as part of our year of first. Now, ain’t that romantic?”

“Yeah, isn’t it just?” you followed up, though in a tired, flatter voice. “Going ‘round and ‘round the country. You really gonna turn us away in the dead of night?”

The man’s lips folded into his teeth as he blinked at you next, noticing the exhaustion on your face, sensing something not quite right.

“Really making me hit the road and tolerate this guy for god knows how many more hours?” you piled on. “That’s so cruel.”

“One night should be fine,” the clerk sighed, already backing away—

Only for Kenjaku to ring the bell once more. “Not so fast,” he caught him before he could get too far. “Why don’t you show us to our room first?”

The clerk gave a short, agitated but noticeably nervous laugh. “I’ll be back real quick. I just need to get the paperwork—”

Kenjaku, however, already had something much more immediately sinister in mind. “Oh, we can do all that later. It’s late, isn’t it? So what’s so wrong about showing us what kind of rooms there are first?”

As soon as the guy hesitated again, that damned bell rang again.

“R-right,” he blurted out, their whole frame growing stiff. “I’ll show you both around.”

“Great!” Kenjaku replied, sounding elated, pushing off of the front desk and clasping his hands together in pure approval. “After you,” he suggested, gesturing with a polite nod towards the stairs, already moving behind him as soon as he started up with unsteady steps.

He remained practically glued to the guy’s back as the young man nervously reached around their belt to fumble for the master key, and when he stepped on inside, ready to give a weak explanation over what sort of a room this was exactly, Kenjaku had already crossed the distance as you wearily started to shut the door, already knowing what to expect; clamping his hands around the man’s mouth as soon as he could, putting his neck into a headlock to quieten the struggle before pushing his face down into the surface of the mattress.

“So, how many people are staying?” Kenjaku asked calmly as soon as he had full control.

The man’s response came out as wet and muffled against the bed. “None—!”

Kenjaku, however, moved to position his elbow into the root of their neck, applying pressure that must have felt surely excruciating. “Are you telling the truth?”

“T-two,” the man admitted with a strained gasp, folding as soon as the pain gripped him. “A-A businessman, I think, and our caretaker, so if you can just—”

“Those keys from before,” Kenjaku cut in, moving on quickly as soon as he got the answer he wanted, “do they access every single room on this property?”

A garbled sound of agreement left the poor guy.

“Great,” Kenjaku beamed once more, removing his elbow from the man’s neck but keeping him right where he could see him. “So, here’s what’s going to happen,” he began, sounding awfully conversational. “You’re lucky enough to be… selected for something we’re calling a grand send off, so you’re going to live,” he promised, “for now,” he added just as quickly, “but given what we’re going to be up to will cause quite the bit of noise, we’ll need to keep you as quiet as possible for now,” he explained, pulling back slightly to catch a glimpse over what you were up to, narrowing his eyes slightly as you made yourself too at home as you helped yourself to what appeared to be complimentary chocolates on the dresser.

“What’s the plumbing arrangement?” Kenjaku moved on, turning away from you and focusing on the man again. “Showers? Bathtubs?”

“T-T-Tubs?” he replied in a shaky stammer.

Kenjaku smiled at that. “What kind? Ceramic? Fiberglass? Acrylic?”

“T-The first,” the man choked out. “Ceramic.”

“Oh! Kenjaku exclaimed. “How lucky for us, or should I say… you?” he redirected, his eyes glinting with something profoundly dark. “Footed? Fused to the floor?”

“Built in?” he gasped.

A slight frown anchored over Kenjaku’s lips immediately. “Less spectacular,” he muttered. “But, I suppose it shall make do for now,” he added quickly anyway, his smile returning to his lips, whipping his head back to check you over. “Hey. Any chance you know how to unseal a tub from tiles?”

You shrugged. “No? But I do remember that when Naoya and I had a bathroom refurbishment, the contractors pulled our toilets off by using some sort of chemical dissolvent? Maybe it would be the same for a tub?”

Kenjaku pursed his lips to the side. “You might be right. I suppose I’ll have to busy myself with that,” he sighed at the thought. “I’ll tie our little liability up and gather what’s needed, so keep them company, will you?”

You looked at him almost pleadingly. “Didn’t you say I can sleep?”

“I won’t be too long, and then you can sleep for as long as you need to,” he assured you. “Just cooperate with me for a few more hours, and then, I promise.”

You let out a defeated, long and drawn-out sigh at the idea of needing to be up for hours more, but nodded along, dragging yourself over to the unoccupied side of the bed, briefly making eye contact with the person still crushed to the bed, ignoring them just as quickly.

“Two more people, huh?” you murmured out, your eyes settling on the ceiling. “Whatcha gonna do?”

Kenjaku snorted through his nose, moving to keep the man flat under his knee instead as he reached to tear the bedding to craft makeshift bindings. “You know what I’m going to do,” he lowly murmured as he worked. “It’s not going to be pretty, but two more liabilities are what they are. They’ll run their mouth if they’re able to. It’s a pipe dream, really, if I could get them to wait it out in a locked room and then release them under a vow of silence after, but they’re going to have to go,” he explained, moving to wrap a torn strip of fabric around the clerk’s mouth, gagging them in the process, finishing up by tying their limbs together. “I’ll be back with something stronger, but if they start to struggle too much, just knock them out with anything heavy you can, or give me a shout,” he instructed you, nudging you slightly as you looked to be on the cusp of sleep. “Just if you go for the attack, not too hard—we’ll need him alive for later.”

“Gotcha,” you yawned out, forcing yourself to sit back up despite your exhaustion. “Just don’t blame me if I’m too sleepy to notice him making a run for it,” you added jokingly before correcting yourself, assuring him that you were present enough. “I’ll try, I mean. Just no promises.”

Kenjaku sighed for the time being with you, but supposed that your tired compliance was as good as he was going to get, given the sorry state you were in.

No matter, anyway, he would be quick:

He could hardly wait to see this whole thing through, after all.

~~~

Leaving you alone in the suite, Kenjaku quietly drifted off, keeping his footsteps quiet as he padded back down the stairs in search of maintenance equipment. If there was a caretaker around, then they had to have at least the bare minimum, and once downstairs, the layout of the bed and breakfast started to make a bit more sense in a residential way. He pieced together that this must have once been a regular old house that had since then been converted; upstairs, the hallways spanned in crooked, narrow paths. On the ground floor, however, behind the front desk was a living room of sorts fashioned into a staff room, and further up ahead seemed to be a door that led to a garage. Faint residual tyre tracks were rubbed onto the floor, and rusty gardening tools from another era sat in the corner, but sure enough, there were organised shelves labelled for things like clogs, bathroom cleaning, and the like.

But then, there was a slight creak along the floor as he rummaged for something that could work. Kenjaku was otherwise sorting through everything and anything he could use; from tools, from chemicals, from things he could use to set up the scene as perfectly as he imagined. Just one tub should be fine, he ended up concluding. Though your idea with stacking two tubs on top of each other was quite novel, it wasn’t too practical. One would do; something to cover the top of it over and then something to make a sound with as the screams of the person inside would be forced out. Beneath it all, something had to burn hot enough but not to set the person on fire right away; so perhaps if the tub itself balanced atop burning coal or firewood, it might be best. Maybe it could be filled with water, faintly, just to be boiled and create the effect of steam rising out of the tub, too. What a way to go, though. He found himself shuddering at your idea.

The creak happened again, and that time around, he noticed. It couldn’t have been you, because even if you did sometimes follow him too far for his own liking, you were far too tired to do so right this moment, given how tired you were. No. This was someone with a far slower gait—with heavier, raspier breathing. He considered the caretaker, and quietened down, reaching for the gardening tools in the corner before pressing himself against the wall near the entrance.

Standing with some hedge sheers, he waited with the blades drawn out, keeping his breathing as quiet as he could—largely to avoid both making a scene and also to lure the caretaker in with quiet ease—he prepared himself with surprising patience, despite his earlier instability, and when the man waltzed on inside, revealing an old man, half cursing something about a rat problem, Kenjaku was already at it. Quickly, he moved the shears to push against the man’s neck, walking the guy back up against the interior wall, closing the blades with all of his tired strength until blood erupted from around the sides, splattering him right in the face. The blades were worn—rusted around the edges, but he tried and tried—the edges creaking as he applied even more pressure, until the bones gave out, resulting in a dull, awful crack that forced the struggle into a limp slipping heap over the floor. A second after, the head rolled off the shears, landing with a wet thud right by his feet.

For a moment, Kenjaku considered whether the mess he made was even necessary. It was a moment too late that he pondered why he couldn’t have just quietly choked out the man. Was it because he wasn’t going to get his fill for a while, considering where he was going? Everything that had started from the museum had him acting wild; as if every waking second could very well be his last, so he was going out with everything he could, he supposed. If everything felt volatile and spontaneous and whatnot, then he could feel as if he still belonged to himself—

At the expense of others, if he had to suppose.

Though, as the rest of the next few minutes passed and as he caught his breath back, still heaving from the exhilaration of the moment, the reality of it all caught up again. The blood still seeping out of the man’s neck was foul and pungent, and not to mention the mess it made. The sounds of a struggle were loud, too, so it was without a doubt that he had likely woken up the only other guest in the vicinity.

If this was the maintenance guy, then who was left?

Oh. Yes. The businessman. In a way, though, it was strange, because why would a salaryman—supposedly—be this far away from the city? This far into the countryside? Other places with better transportation links existed left and right, but then again, if he were to remember the strain of work culture, maybe he too would have opted for somewhere as isolated as possible back in the day.

Kenjaku let out a deeper sigh as he dragged the components he had settled on to the foot of the stairs one by one regardless. He would deal with the blood later, if it bothered him. For now, he just wanted to dissolve the seal and separate the tub from the floor, subdue the man upstairs for long enough to not be a nuisance, and then somehow, drag that whole contraption down and outside because what good was something so outrageous if it was hidden away from the world?

Just as he clanged around, however, the sounds of angered stomping finally emerged as a tired, disgruntled-looking man, wearing just a t-shirt and sweatpants, appeared over the top of the stairs.

“You’re kidding,” he seethed out flatly, his voice thick with sleep and anger. “I was told that this place would be empty. Empty—” he emphasised a second time. “Or at least that the guests are usually quiet.”

Kenjaku lifted his head, slowly blinking as headache number three supposedly showed up. He glanced down next at his reddened, stained hands, tucking them behind himself, fixing the man upstairs with a tight smile.

“Apologies,” Kenjaku replied, smoothing his voice into something deceptively sweet. “Just working on something downstairs. A necessary inspection, if you will,” he lied, already sensing that this man would have to be silenced permanently too. He knew guys like this. Guys with more temper than sense.

The guest in question looked down at the components that Kenjaku had gathered, forcing a heavy sigh to leave his lips as he fought to keep his composure in check. “Well, keep it down, will you?” he huffed, turning reluctantly polite, gripping the stair railings tightly to reel himself in. “I need a full night’s rest so I can rehearse for tomorrow.”

Kenjaku’s interest piqued instantly.

Was this a typical office-leaning businessman, or had fate led him to someone far more interesting instead?

“Rehearse?” he caught right away. “What for?” he asked, keeping the interest in his voice light, as if he were just making friendly conversation.

The guy sighed, trying to smile past his annoyance as if to not reflect poorly on himself. “For something that’s a pretty big deal, actually,” he admitted, almost bragging at the confession. “I finally, after so many years, finally—finally—landed a spot at one of the better concert halls in the country. Can you believe it? Of course I have to rehearse. I can’t mess this up.”

Kenjaku was practically shaking now.

Depending on the instrument, could this be the piece he needed? Not a tube—not a funnel—but an instrument that could bring together the whole show?

“I’ll be quiet,” he promised, already starting up the stairs, unable to stop himself. “What will you be playing?”

The man found himself backing off slightly, but he couldn’t keep himself from bragging.

“The trombone,” he replied, pushing his hands off the railing and ready to retire back into his suite.

Kenjaku let out a breath of delight at the answer, pausing for just a moment to compose himself at all, lest he reveal his excitement far too soon.

This was good, he thought. Oh. Almost too good.

It was as if he were exactly where he was supposed to be.